Things Happen in Prison
by Aeiu
Summary: Following the events of "Scared Stiff", Hardcastle is finding it harder than he thought for him and McCormick to leave Clarkville Prison. Some bad language.


THINGS HAPPEN IN PRISON

By AEIU

"_I hope McCormick is watching that smart mouth of his,"_ ex-judge Milton C. Hardcastle thought as he squirmed in the plush leather chair that had recently belonged to Warden Porter. Everyone's nerves were on edge following the riot at Clarkville Prison and he suspected no one would appreciate the kid's attempts at humor.

Everything started out with the best of intentions. He had volunteered to take an inner-city youth group to the Clarkville to talk to a group of inmates. Many of the teens didn't really understand what it meant to go to jail; to them prison held a certain mystique like a badge of honor or rite of passage from child to adult. The theory was if they could be made to understand what prison was really like then they might think twice before choosing to commit a crime. Hardcastle thought if it could convince even one of the youngsters to walk the straight and narrow then he owed it to them to try.

He had brought McCormick along for the trip. He knew the kid didn't like going back inside of any prison but if he had an obligation to the youth group then so did McCormick. He thought it was good for the young man to face his fears and build up his confidence.

Things started going wrong the minute entered through the iron gates of Clarkville. The dead inmate being removed from one of the housing units should have been an omen that something wasn't right. He remembered the note of desolate sadness in the kid's voice as they watched the alleged suicide be taken into the ambulance.

McCormick said death was an inconvenient nuisance in prisons; something the administration quickly pigeon-holed and swept under the rug lest it reveal any of the ugly truths about the house with many doors. Simply put, things happen in prison, bad things that no one wants to talk about.

What Hardcastle didn't realize was how common of an occurrence death was at the Clarkville Prison. McCormick might have known but it might have been something he didn't like to remember.

Hardcastle had handpicked the inmate to talk to the youth group. They had more than convinced the teens that prison was a bad and brutal place where they did not want to be. At the end of the program, he was pleased at the lesson the youths had learned. But the lesson was just beginning for all of them.

The inmates had plans. Clarkville was rife with corruption and violence. At the top of it was Warden Potter who ran a 'Murder for Hire' racket from inside the prison. For a price, a prisoner was sent out to commit the killing and returned with the perfect alibi because how could a man commit a murder when he was behind bars. The warden, Captain Freedman, and a few well-chosen guards ran the deadly cabal with the help of the many people inside of Clarkville that turned a blind eye to what was happening around them.

After all, things happen in prison and the killings were just one of the things that happened at Clarkville. Despite outward appearances, the prison was a hell-hole of mistreatment, neglect, and abuses. Some inmates, led by a man named Connor, wanted it to stop and were prepared to use whatever means needed to make the state acknowledge the problems.

They made their move as the youth group was leaving. They seized Hardcastle, Mark, and the teens as hostages. A full riot ensued and soon the entire prison had fallen into the hands of the inmates.

Connors demanded the state come in and do a full investigation of the Clarkville administration. He agreed to release the children but he and the others were all too well aware of the value of a judge for hostage negotiation. McCormick's position was more precarious; trusted by neither side it was even money if he would be shot by guards as a rioter or killed by an inmate who considered him a sell-out or informant.

Riots are like living entities which grow and mutate over time. The discipline of the rioters as well as the negotiations quickly fell apart, torn by internal fractions with their own agendas. The warden and his cronies were determined to cover-up their crimes. They wanted the riot quashed as quickly as possible with as little involvement from outside agencies. They considered the loss of life an acceptable price to preserve their operation.

Inside the walls, the solidarity of the rioters broke down as gangs formed to take revenge against hostaged prison workers, other inmates, and judges which had sent them to prison.

Connor and a few still loyal inmates decided to cut their losses and leave the prison with their two hostages. Hardcastle and McCormick were forced to put on prison clothes and join the escapees. It had been an ironic moment when he and the kid managed to slip away from their captors only to discover the warden, afraid they had learned too much, ordered them killed as escaped prisoners.

There had been a few hairy moments but he and McCormick managed to catch Potter before he got away. They returned him to his own prison to face justice. Stressed and exhausted, Hardcastle hoped they be able to make a quick statement and return home. But, again, he was wrong.

The dust from the uprising had barely settled before an invasion of state police and other agencies entered the facility hell-bent on re-establishing prison security and identifying the security lapses which allowed the convicts to take control of the institution. Investigations against the warden and his minions were promised to begin at some unnamed date in the future.

Hence Hardcastle found himself stuck in a chair while a still wet-behind-the-ear investigator named Thaddeus Tanksley continued to ask him an endless number of questions surrounding the events of the riot. As time went on, he increasingly disliked the tone and direction of the inquiry.

"When did Mr. McCormick suggest you take the youths to Clarkville?"

"Which prisoner did Mr. McCormick suggest have talk to the youths?"

"What contact did Mr. McCormick have with the other prisoners just prior to the riot?"

"Look, Tanksley," Hardcastle finally growled, "I've already told you that McCormick didn't have anything to do with the riot."

"I'm not saying he did," Tanksley replied in a placating manner. "We just need to make sure all avenues are fully investigated so we can be sure something like this doesn't happen again."

"I would think you'd be better off spending more time trying to figuring out how the warden was able to use the prisoners as his personal killers.

Something undefined flashed in Tanksley's eyes; the investigator took a deep breath then continued in his all-to-calm voice. "I have heard some of the allegations made against Warden Porter and some members of his staff. Rest assured that all allegations will be investigated. But, like I said, prison security is very important. We were lucky the casualty list was as low as it was. We don't want something like this to happen again. "

Hardcastle's mind brought up the image of the only casualty of the riot. Captain Freedman whose body they found hanging from the rafters deep in the bowels of the prison. The rioting inmates claimed he had been the middleman between warden who ordered the hits and the inmates forced to make the kills. The investigators suspected the captain had been killed by rioting prisoners in retaliation for a perceived wrong but Hardcastle wondered if the warden hadn't had a hand in the murder. It was anyone's guess which side had finally decided to end the Freedman's life.

"The captain was already dead when we found him," reported Hardcastle. "Connors and the other inmates were as surprised to find him as we were."

"Captain Freedman was a well-respected officer with a family," Tanksley said with a catch in his voice. "He'll be missed by all of us."

"You know Connors and the others said Freedman was knee-deep in the racket the warden was running out of here."

"I know what they're saying but I'm, also, looking at who's saying it," Tanksley said with an angry snap. He appeared to count to ten before he continued in a calmer voice. "But, like I said, we will be making a full inquiry into all of the allegations."

Based on Tanksley's attitude, Hardcastle wondered how full of an inquiry they were willing to do. The corruption of Clarkville did not happen overnight. There had been a slew of inspections over the years which had praised the fine work of Clarkville. A lot of people had a lot of explaining to do about how they had missed so much. It was possible a conspiracy of silence was about to drop on Clarkville to try to protect the good name of people who had failed at their jobs.

"_Not on my watch," _promised Hardcastle.

Hardcastle thought back again to the discovery of Captain Freedman's body. Connor and the others had been truly frightened by that. They knew whatever happened they were going to remain in prison, a place where things happened. Particularly to prisoners who had incurred the wrath of the guards.

Even honest officers would be angry at the death of one of their own at the hands of prisoners. A post-riot environment was full of guards and others eager to seek retaliation against the inmates who rose against them. It took a highly disciplined institution with strong leadership to keep both sides in line in the aftermath; not one where the leadership was more corrupt than the people it imprisoned , and where leadership did not even exist following the arrest of the warden. Anything could happen behind the closed doors of a prison.

Suddenly Hardcastle wanted to see McCormick and he wanted to see him right now.

"Where's McCormick?" Hardcastle demanded.

The way Tanksley's eyes darted away worried the judge.

"Um, Mr. McCormick is being debriefed by other personnel in another section of the institution," Tanksley said.

"Well," Hardcastle answered as he slapped his hands against his knees and stood up, "it's been a long day and I think we'll call it a night. You can talk with us in the morning."

"I only have a few more questions but if you're tired we can get you a nice room at the Holiday Inn, just outside of town. But I'd really like to finish this up tonight."

"And McCormick?"

"Like I said, I believe they are still talking with him and I suspect it'll run late," Tanksley said nervously. "If you're tired, why don't I take you to the hotel? I can give you some vouchers for the hotel restaurant. We can bring Mr. McCormick over later."

"I have an idea," Hardcastle countered with a predatory smile. "Why don't we go find McCormick and you can take both of us to the hotel."

"I'm not really sure where he is at this exact moment. I can call around and have him brought over. But it would be easier to have them take him over to the hotel when they're finished."

"I said let's go find him," Hardcastle said in a voice which brooked no argument as he stood up and headed for the door.

"Wait, your honor," Tanksley said as he grabbed Hardcastle's forearm.

For a brief second, Hardcastle stared at the offending hand. Tanksley blushed and released the arm as though it was on fire when he saw the warning glint in the judge's eyes.

"We're still cleaning things up," Tanksley explained. "It's not a good idea to be wandering around out there."

"I'm not wandering, you're escorting me. Or are you saying that even with all the men you've got in here, you still don't have control of the prison?"

"Of course not," Tanksley snapped. "We have full control over this institution. I would just think that a man of your reputation would be interested in helping us determine how this riot occurred and what outside help they may have gotten."

"I'm sure you and your men are going to find out the truth but there's nothing we can tell you that won't wait until tomorrow. And I want to see McCormick, now."

"Are you acting as his lawyer?"

"Are you saying he needs one?"

"We're still asking questions."

"You can ask them in the morning."

"Very well," Tanksley conceded. "Follow me."

It surprised Hardcastle when they walked out of the administration offices. He and McCormick had been separated after their return to inside the prison walls. He assumed the kid had been taken to another room. The fact someone found it necessary to take McCormick to another building worried him.

The tension in the air was almost palatable. It seemed like any minute, the violence could erupt anew from either side and against any target.

Over the years Hardcastle had done what he could to insure that state prisons met the high ideals of their mission statements but he was not so naïve as to believe the sanitized version that was put on display during his official tours. Any system was only as good as the people it served and the people that ran it; that included the inmates, guards, administration, and public which often fluctuated between apathy and outrage. Some prisons were better and some were worse; Clarkville was worse than most. And this is where he had sent McCormick for the crime of taking his car back from a vindictive ex-girlfriend.

"_Don't be thinking that way," _Hardcastle chastised himself. _"You didn't send him here. You made a fair decision based on the law and the sentence wasn't excessive. California decided where he served his sentence." _Still a small bit of guilt nibbled away deep inside of him.

Hardcastle stopped short as he and Tanksley started up a sidewalk toward a formidable looking building in a cluster of formidable looking buildings.

"Seg!" Hardcastle exclaimed as he recognized it. "What the hell is McCormick doing in segregation?"

"He's not in segregation, Judge Hardcastle," Tanksley tried to explain. "He's just being temporarily housed here. There was some confusion about his status when he was brought in."

"He wasn't brought in," corrected Hardcastle. "He came in with me when we brought back Potter. And his status is a freed hostage."

"I was informed of the circumstances of the warden's capture but you have to understand how confusing thing are after something like this. Evidentially someone remembered Mr. McCormick used to be a prisoner here and he's still on parole. A decision was made to bring him here for the safety of the institution as well as for himself. He's in protective custody."

"_Protective custody," _thought Hardcastle, _"just another word for solitary confinement; small one-man cells with a smaller window. He hates seg."_

Hardcastle reflected on a past case when a fellow judge had thrown McCormick back into prison based on a suspicion that he was involved in a home robbery. He had wanted the kid to go into protective custody but McCormick refused saying he'd rather take a chance on getting a beating than to lose the little amount of freedom he had in the prison. He called protective custody a prison inside of a prison.

"McCormick is not an inmate here," barked Hardcastle to an increasingly nervous Tanksley, "No one had the authority or right to put him into segregation."

"As I told you, Judge Hardcastle, it was done for his own protection while we debriefed him regarding the riot. Some of the other inmates made threats against him. They felt he was one of the reasons for the failure of the riots. They accused him of selling them out. We put him here for his own protection."

"Then why take him to Seg!" Hardcastle demanded. "Why not keep him in the administration office with me."

Tanksley sighed as he tried to come up with the words that would calm the situation. "Some of the investigators thought Mr. McCormick was being less than candid about his involvement in the riot. It was felt this environment might be more conducive to questioning him. Our legal officer assured us that, given his parole status, we were within our rights to secure him as we saw best."

"I already told you that McCormick didn't have anything to do with the riot."

"Your opinion has been forwarded but you have to admit it's suspicious that the riot coincided with his visit, that the instigators were people he arranged to speak at your seminar with the youths, that he was the one they chose as an intermediary, and there's a host of other things that need to be cleared up."

"I was the one that set the program with Warden Potter and I'm the one who chose which inmates talked to the kids. McCormick was against this from the beginning."

"Skid has always been quite the con-man. He could get some people to believe anything and even make them think it was their own idea."

Hardcastle's voice dropped to a glacier-like temperature. "Are you suggesting that McCormick has been conning me?"

Tanksley's self-preservation kicked in as he felt the judge's temper become untethered. "I, personally, wouldn't say that but others might suspect it. And we are obligated to investigate all possibilities."

"You're obligated to uphold the law and that doesn't include holding an innocent man in solitary," Hardcastle said as he slammed through the doors of the Segregation Building and Tanksley scurried behind.

Sergeant Bedel leaned back in his swivel chair in the Control Room as he kept a half-eye on the multiple screens and Master Board of the Control Center. Through the myriad of electronics he was able to see and hear the activities of most of the Segregation Unit. Through the use of a few buttons, he could center any one of the cameras or listening units to any section of the unit that he wished.

Currently most of his attention was focused on a screen which showed the interior of one of the cells where a man nervously paced.

"_Looking worried there, Stahnl," _Bedel smirked to himself. _"You'd better be. None of us liked that sucker punch you threw at Corporal Duncan. I think one of these nights you're going to get a little attitude adjustment."_

Sergeant Bedel wasn't upset that he had been called from home to come in to work during the aftermath of the riot. The overtime would be welcomed addition to his paycheck. But more important he wanted to be there to support his fellow worker workers who had been hurt during the riot.

But he had another, more selfish, reason for wanting to be at his post before the investigators had a chance to review his records. He knew the shit was about to hit the fan and there was no telling who it would be splattered on. He wasn't sure what the investigators would be more upset over the criminal acts of the warden or that security had been so lax that a riot had occurred and hostages had been taken.

Being called in to work gave him a chance to make sure the paperwork which verified he maintained high security standards was up-to-date before the inspectors got a hold of them and found differently. He still needed to make a few 'pen and ink corrections' to a few records but he was pretty sure he'd have his butt would be covered when the brass was looking for somewhere to pin the blame.

Lost in his thoughts and torn between 'fixing the paperwork' and monitoring the screens, Sergeant Bedel barely acknowledged the two men who entered his office. It had been like Grand Central Station so he wasn't worried about two more men. He figured they were just another set of investigators who wanted to re-question one of the pieces of scum who had dared riot in his prison.

"Sergeant," Investigator Tanksley said. "Have Mr. McCormick brought up to Central."

"The lieutenant just tried talking to him but he's still got that smart mouth," Bedel explained without taking his eyes off the pacing Stahnl. "He said to give him a couple of hour to cool his heels before we tried again."

"Sergeant," the other voice was quieter but there was something in the timber that made Bedel turn to look. He gulped when he saw the outrage and anger in the older man's cold blue eyes.

"M, m, may I help you?" Bedel stuttered.

"Get. Mark. McCormick. Up. Here. Now!" Hardcastle ordered as he annunciated every word as his teeth grinded against each other.

Bedel silently acknowledged Tanksley's nod of consent as he turned back to his radio unit.

"406, this is 57," Bedel said into his radio. "Bring McCormick down to Central."

"10-4," came the response.

Hardcastle didn't trust his voice to speak. It seemed like every time he tried to prove to the kid that the system worked that there were things he could believe in; he was the one who got the education. From Teddy Hollin's parole officer, Quinlan, to Judge Brant, to the Georgia Street Motor Gang, to even his small town childhood friends; all of them as bad as the worst prisoner locked away in Clarkville.

Hardcastle eyes scanned over the multiple TV screens as he looked for a sign of his missing partner. He fixated on a screen in the upper right corner where two prison guards walked as if on a mission. One of the guards was lean and lanky while the other was notably shorter and stockier; a Mutt and Jeff Team. He noted the full set of restraints in Jeff's clenched hands.

Sergeant Bedel sensed the spike in the judge's displeasure. "It's institution policy that any inmate transported in segregation be in full restraints," he explained.

"McCormick is not an inmate," Hardcastle snarled back.

"Actually," Tanksley piped in, "our legal officer opined that as he is assigned to the California Department of Corrections as a parolee. They decided he could be…" His voice petered out in the heat of Hardcastle's glare.

Satisfied that he would not be bothered by anymore of the mens' inane justifications, Hardcastle turned his attention back to the screen. He was just able to make out the officers' voices from the rest of the chatter being picked up by the electronic security units.

Mutt had reached an unmarked cell door and banged on it firmly with his closed fist. "Get up, con. They want to talk to you some more."

He pulled a key ring from his belt and opened a small hatch on the door. After a few moments, he banged louder against the door.

"I said they want to talk to you," he yelled louder. "You don't want to make us go in there again."

Back in the Control Room, Sergeant Bedel's hand darted up to the mute button.

"Don't!" commanded Hardcastle as he continued to listen to the guards.

Another moment passed, before a pair of hands was thrust out through the hatch.

"Now was that so hard, boy," Jeff chuckled as he snapped the cuff onto the wrists. "You'd be doing yourself a favor if you'd just cooperate. You're just making things harder on yourself."

A response from the man in the cell was interrupted by radio static but Hardcastle could tell the guards were not pleased by the way Mutt shook his head."

"Still being a wise guy," Mutt said ruefully. "That's not going to help you any after lights out. Best tell the truth then we can see about cutting you some sort of deal."

Mutt pulled out another key and opened the cell door. He stood on one side of the door holding a chain that ran through the hatch and connected to the handcuffs. McCormick stood on the other side of the door; behind him, Jeff secured a chain around his waist then he bent down and secured the larger cuffs to Mark's ankles.

Mutt handed the chain through the hatch to Jeff who ran it through the waist restraint and secured it to the ankle cuffs. Jeff roughly pulled McCormick into the hallway while Mutt slammed the door shut.

Mutt walked closer to Mark and squeezed down on the handcuffs which caused them to tighten around the young man's wrists. "Those feel okay?" he asked with false conciliatory.

"They're fine," McCormick responded as he suppressed a wince of pain. He coldly stared into Mutt's eye with a swaggering deviance Hardcastle had not seen in a long time and had not expected to see again.

"Good," Mutt said as he secured the cuffs. "You going to tell the truth this time?"

"I've told the truth," McCormick responded. "I didn't have anything to do with the riot and you can't hold me here."

Mutt shook his head again. "We can keep you as long as we want. And there ain't anyone out there that cares what we do to you. The sooner you realize that and fess up, the better it'll be for you."

The radio static blocked out the response but it caused the guards to snigger loudly.

Without warning, Jeff pulled on the lead chain while Mutt pushed McCormick from behind. Mark stumbled and nearly fell to the floor.

"You need to be more careful there, Skid," Mutt laughed. "We got a lot of stairs here and it would be too bad if you tripped."

"Your concern is touching," McCormick sneered. "If you had more of it maybe you wouldn't have gotten locked out of your own prison."

"Why you…" Mutt said as he reached for the long flashlight attached to his belt.

Jeff grabbed his partner's shoulder and shook his head. "They want to see him now."

Mutt reluctantly backed off and they started toward Central Office.

As they walked down the hallway, there was a deafening amount of shouts as the inmates looked out of their small cell windows and saw who they guards were taking away. Hardcastle could make out various accusations, insults, and threats the inmates made against McCormick, someone they suspected as betraying them to the authorities.

Hardcastle thought the prisoners sounded angry enough to carry them out. He noted his partner's held his head high as he walked through the gauntlet and turned a deaf ear to the voices that surrounded him.

The judge noted McCormick still wore the prison garb he had been forced to don during the riot. Agent Tanksley had brought him up his clothes within thirty minutes of his return to the prison.

Hardcastle turned to face Sergeant Bedel. "Call who you have to call but I want a car waiting for us," he ordered.

Bedel nodded mutely as Tanksley opened the door.

It seemed like forever but it was only a few hundred yards, plus a few more locked doors, to the Central Office. With each step, Hardcastle tried to find some excuse for the treatment his friend had received. But there was none.

It was obvious what had happened. It was better for the institution to determine the riot had occurred because of outside influences rather than their own actions. McCormick was an easy scapegoat. They preferred a false confession that absolved them of the blame than to tackle their own shortcomings. He suspected they were willing to hold him as long as it took to get what they wanted. Then they planned to close the door on him forever.

As he entered the Central Office, Hardcastle's eyes lit on McCormick who sat rigidly in the wooden straight chair while Mutt and Jeff muttered behind him. The three of them instinctively stiffened as they felt the waves of fury which emitted from the judge's body.

As McCormick lifted his head to look at his friend, Hardcastle noted the blackened eye and bruised mouth from which a small trickle of blood had dried.

"What the hell happened to him?" Hardcastle demanded as his right hand clenched into a fist and he turned to face the investigator.

"As I explained, your honor," Tanksley said, "there was some confusion when we first brought Mr. McCormick in. He was placed with some of the other inmates and there was an incident. But as you can see it's nothing serious. That's why we took him away from the general population."

Hardcastle turned back to face Mutt and Jeff as he gestured toward the cuffs. "Take those off," he ordered. "We're leaving."

"If you could wait a few minutes," Tanksley babbled, "my supervisor will be here and the two of you can talk. I'm sure you'll see this was for the best."

McCormick visibly relaxed as he realized the judge's ire was not directed at him. He smiled smugly at the two officers who removed his chains. "Told you," he said cryptically.

"Where are his clothes?" Hardcastle asked.

"I'm not sure," Tanksley admitted. "But if you can wait, I'll take the two of you back up to Potter's office while we look for them."

"It doesn't matter, judge," McCormick said as he stood up from the chair and rubbed his reddened and chaffed wrists. "Let's go."

Hardcastle was overwhelmed by a need to know if the kid was alright. He walked forward and gently touched his arm. "You okay?" he whispered.

"Yeah," Mark said. "But I want to leave."

"Please, your honor," Tanksley implored. "We still have more questions."

"You've got my number," the judge said as he waited for Tanksley to unlock the door.

"Gentlemen, it's been a pleasure," McCormick said with a self-satisfied smile as he turned back to face the guards.

"Officer Brenner, will escort you out," Tanksley said half-heartedly as Mutt stepped forward. "But we will be in contact with you for follow-up questions."

Hardcastle grunted in response unwilling to consider spending another minute in Clarkville or with the people who ran it.

No one said anything as they walked out. Hardcastle allowed his eyes to stray to his friend. The sight brought a small smile to his lips. The McCormick's bravado returned with every step towards his second escape from Clarkville. By the time, they reached the prison gate; the kid was cheekily waving good-bye to each of the stone-faced guards which glared at him from the grounds and towers.

As they began to drive away from the prison, Hardcastle tried to find the right words to say, to explain away what had happened, and apologize for the system he so often touted that had failed the kid again.

"McCormick," he said softly only to be interrupted by a light punch on his shoulder. He turned to look at Mark as the young man snuggled into the car's soft seats.

"Knew you'd come," McCormick said as he closed his eyes and breathed a sigh of relief that had been too long in coming.

As he watched the tension seep from the young man's body, he felt sure it wouldn't be long until the kid was asleep. He turned his attention back to the darkened highway and thought back to the warmth he had felt at the look of trust he had just seen in the kid's eyes. He realized he had given McCormick something to believe in.

"You can count on me, kid," he quietly promised. "I'm always going to be there for you."

"I know," Mark quietly responded as he smiled to himself and let sleep finally claim him.

THE END


End file.
